Read Online Child of the May by Theresa Tomlinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Theresa Tomlinson
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protection of darkness. Then they’d set up camp within view of the Great North Road.
Tom, back from the convent, packed his food, then told Robert that he would not be going with them.
Robert looked surprised but listened carefully to what Tom had to say.
“Mother Veronica believes there may be a source of that rare oil Alan needs.”
“Where?” Magda asked.
“Up beyond Doncaster, not far from Wakefield, there is a place called Temple Newhouse.”
“Do you mean the preceptory?”
Tom nodded. “That’s the place.”
“The Templar Knights? You’d go calling on them?”
Marian frowned. “I begin to see,” she said. “If anyone has brought back medicines from those distant lands, it would be the strange fighting monks.”
Robert drew in his breath sharply. “Be careful, Tom. Those men are fierce fighters and a law unto themselves; even the King cannot control them.”
“Sounds just like us,” said John.
“Don’t go,” cried Magda. “Why risk yourself?”
“Everything we do is a risk.” Tom shrugged his shoulders.
“Robert goes chasing off to risk himself for a brave lady. I go for Alan. Besides . . .” he smiled, “Mother Veronica has given me a letter that she swears will keep me safe. Walter of Stainthorpe is a powerful Templar Knight, and he is the man she was once to marry.”
“Ah!” Marian understood.
“They may not have the oil,” Tom insisted, “but I must try.”
“Fair enough,” said Robert. “I wish you well.”
When they had gone, the clearing seemed quiet and dreary. Though the usual procession of sick people and animals came and went, Magda was restless and dull. She went about her chores, fetching wood, picking berries and herbs, cutting rushes and digging latrines.
One afternoon, as she set out laden with baskets and sacks, she caught a glimpse of a small figure dashing behind a tree. Magda dropped her bags and ran lightly towards the place. Behind a thick elder bush she found a young girl with mud smudged cheeks and a blood stained skirt. She clutched a dead-looking grey dog in her arms.
Magda sighed. This was a common sight in the clearing. She bent down and lightly touched the dog’s dangling right paw that was wrapped in a dirty rag.
“Regarders caught our Fetcher . . . chasing deer,” the girl whispered. “They came and lamed him.” She shook so much that she could hardly be heard.
“What?” said Magda. “Speak up!”
“The Forestwife. I seek the wise woman’s help.”
“Too late.” Magda spoke without mercy. “I think your Fetcher’s dead.”
She pushed her fingers into the rough fur of the dog’s neck and felt a faint pulse beat.
“Oh well,” she said. “You’d best come with me. Where have you come from?”
“Clipstone, within the bounds of Sherwood.” The girl struggled to her feet and Magda took the dog from her.
“He’s a weight, all right,” she said more kindly. “How have you managed him? How old are you?”
“Twelve last birthday.”
“You’ve come a long way and he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know that we can save him. What’s your name?”
“Joanna.”
“Are you hungry?”
The girl nodded, but suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m feared. Feared of the Forestwife and the man, the Hooded One.”
Magda could not help but smile, remembering what she’d heard in Nottingham of the fearful Witch of Barnsdale.
“Come with me and don’t be feared. The Forestwife is my mother . . . well, she’s all the mother I’ve got. She lives here with Eleanor, the old one. And as for the Hooded One, he’s away from here just now.”
A touch of curiosity showed on Joanna’s face and she allowed herself to be led into the clearing. She stared quietly up at the tall woman in the worn homespun gown with the beautiful woven girdle, while Magda told her story. Marian made them put Fetcher by the hearthstone, and sent them to bring water from the spring to wash his wound.
“He’s very weak,” she
Tom, back from the convent, packed his food, then told Robert that he would not be going with them.
Robert looked surprised but listened carefully to what Tom had to say.
“Mother Veronica believes there may be a source of that rare oil Alan needs.”
“Where?” Magda asked.
“Up beyond Doncaster, not far from Wakefield, there is a place called Temple Newhouse.”
“Do you mean the preceptory?”
Tom nodded. “That’s the place.”
“The Templar Knights? You’d go calling on them?”
Marian frowned. “I begin to see,” she said. “If anyone has brought back medicines from those distant lands, it would be the strange fighting monks.”
Robert drew in his breath sharply. “Be careful, Tom. Those men are fierce fighters and a law unto themselves; even the King cannot control them.”
“Sounds just like us,” said John.
“Don’t go,” cried Magda. “Why risk yourself?”
“Everything we do is a risk.” Tom shrugged his shoulders.
“Robert goes chasing off to risk himself for a brave lady. I go for Alan. Besides . . .” he smiled, “Mother Veronica has given me a letter that she swears will keep me safe. Walter of Stainthorpe is a powerful Templar Knight, and he is the man she was once to marry.”
“Ah!” Marian understood.
“They may not have the oil,” Tom insisted, “but I must try.”
“Fair enough,” said Robert. “I wish you well.”
When they had gone, the clearing seemed quiet and dreary. Though the usual procession of sick people and animals came and went, Magda was restless and dull. She went about her chores, fetching wood, picking berries and herbs, cutting rushes and digging latrines.
One afternoon, as she set out laden with baskets and sacks, she caught a glimpse of a small figure dashing behind a tree. Magda dropped her bags and ran lightly towards the place. Behind a thick elder bush she found a young girl with mud smudged cheeks and a blood stained skirt. She clutched a dead-looking grey dog in her arms.
Magda sighed. This was a common sight in the clearing. She bent down and lightly touched the dog’s dangling right paw that was wrapped in a dirty rag.
“Regarders caught our Fetcher . . . chasing deer,” the girl whispered. “They came and lamed him.” She shook so much that she could hardly be heard.
“What?” said Magda. “Speak up!”
“The Forestwife. I seek the wise woman’s help.”
“Too late.” Magda spoke without mercy. “I think your Fetcher’s dead.”
She pushed her fingers into the rough fur of the dog’s neck and felt a faint pulse beat.
“Oh well,” she said. “You’d best come with me. Where have you come from?”
“Clipstone, within the bounds of Sherwood.” The girl struggled to her feet and Magda took the dog from her.
“He’s a weight, all right,” she said more kindly. “How have you managed him? How old are you?”
“Twelve last birthday.”
“You’ve come a long way and he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know that we can save him. What’s your name?”
“Joanna.”
“Are you hungry?”
The girl nodded, but suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m feared. Feared of the Forestwife and the man, the Hooded One.”
Magda could not help but smile, remembering what she’d heard in Nottingham of the fearful Witch of Barnsdale.
“Come with me and don’t be feared. The Forestwife is my mother . . . well, she’s all the mother I’ve got. She lives here with Eleanor, the old one. And as for the Hooded One, he’s away from here just now.”
A touch of curiosity showed on Joanna’s face and she allowed herself to be led into the clearing. She stared quietly up at the tall woman in the worn homespun gown with the beautiful woven girdle, while Magda told her story. Marian made them put Fetcher by the hearthstone, and sent them to bring water from the spring to wash his wound.
“He’s very weak,” she
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